


When in Praxus, Do as The Praxians Do

by orphan_account



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prowl being a mysterious boi, Romance, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, and so does jazz, but we love him anyways, edgy boi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-21 17:10:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14919468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jazz is given the honor of going to Praxus during their Crystal Festival as a Cultural Investigation assignment. But when he gets there, he meets a quiet black and white mech who catches his optic.





	1. The Most Beautiful City

Oh Primus, Praxus was beautiful. 

The scenery, the buildings, the culture, the mecha. Oh, how the citizens were just gorgeous. 

They were all so well kept; wings held high, armor polished, posture flawless . A perfect depiction of Praxus’ social standards displayed on their very mecha. 

And all this just made Jazz all the more honored to be here. 

Being a cultural investigator, he was assigned to document Praxus’ annual Crystal Festival. It was an honor to be here, really. Not many had the opportunity to take such a trip, especially during this time of year. 

Praxus was known to have the best crystals on all of Cybertron, and they showcased their beautiful creations during this festival. Unless you already lived in Praxus, you’d need to plan orns in advance to even get a hotel room in the area. Even then, most of the hotel rooms were reserved for the rich and famous, leaving commoners without equal opportunity. 

Jazz could count himself as nothing but the luckiest mech in the world to have this privilege to go. 

Before the festival even began, there was an opening ceremony. The senators, along with the heirs to each of Praxus’ wealthiest families, held an opening ceremony. One of the senators would give a speech, there may be a panel of questions, and then the festival would begin. 

The ceremony would be broadcasted but only a couple hundred would have the honor of being there in person. Jazz was one such mech. 

As a cultural investigator, he was invited to the ceremony. And to top it all off, he was even invited to the after party as a guest.

He climbed up the stairs to his seat on the balcony, data pad in servo. He cursed himself for being late, the ceremony would begin any minute. 

Jazz ran into the balcony and found his seat, the lights just beginning to dim. Everything was dark for a few moments, the chatter of the audience slowly dying down. 

The light above the stage turned on, revealing the senators and top members of Praxus’ high society. They were all laid out for everyone to see; the senators in a small half circle in the front, while the members of high society sat in a larger crescent in the back. 

Jazz leaned forward as the head senator began his speech. He knew all the senators by name, they hardly ever changed. But it was the heirs to the upper class that really excited him. 

He began silently listing them off one by one. Windbreaker, Comet, Ace, Oil Slick, Nova, Hazard, Torrent, and the list went on. But he came to a halt when his optics landed on a black and white mech. 

And Primus, he looked like he did not want to be there. 

His wings were twitching, optics down, arms were crossed. Then there was the look on his face that Jazz just couldn’t ignore. It was almost shameful. 

Pity tugged at Jazz’ spark. He was obviously miserable. But oh, he was beautiful.

Long red streaks outlined and jutted out from the tips of his optics. Intricate and delicate engravings were apparent from what could be seen of his protoform. 

Praxians were also known for having engravings on their frame. For many, it was seen as a right of passage to have them. They often meant something, a family crest, their names, passions, culture. 

Jazz would certainly have to ask someone about them later. And then ask about this strange new mech who had a knack for intriguing him.

* * *

Jazz loved parties. He really did. Work or not, it was so thrilling. 

He stood in a circle of other mecha. Some were native Praxians, others fellow cultural investigators. 

The native Praxians took great pride in telling the foreigners about their crystals. Some of the wealthier Praxians even had their own gardens on their estate. Jazz would have to ask them more about it later. 

He smiled and glanced around the rest of the ball room. It was decorated with great big chandeliers, tables with various types of energons, and tall pillars all along the room. 

His optics traced the borders of the room, trying to take everything in. However, is smile faded when he found two disgruntled mechs arguing in the corner. 

They were both Praxian. One was much taller than the other, arms crossed and wings rather low. The other was much shorter, almost completely covered by the other. 

The blue one deflated slightly. He nodded and brought his wings up high, leaving the conversation. 

That left the smaller black and white mech.

Jazz fought back the audible gasp that nearly slipped out. It was the uncomfortable mech from the Opening Ceremony.

He sighed softly, his wings dipping before he forced them back up. The smaller Praxian lifted his helm and scanned the room. 

He landed on a short mech looking straight back at him. The mech jumped slightly, forcing his helm back into the group of other mecha he was previously engaged with. 

The Praxian huffed and hurriedly abandoned his post by the pillar. Jazz watched him out the corner of his optic until he disappeared from vision. 

“Poor mech.” a femme within the circle said. “You can tell he doesn’t want to be here.”

Jazz looked at her and asked, “Why not?”

“He’s just covering for his brother.” a mech said. “The big mech from before, Smokescreen.”

“Smokescreen?” 

Now that name sounded familiar. He was the first born of three brothers, an heir to a wealthy family. 

The femme nodded. “As soon as he was of age, his family gave his spark to a femme who didn’t have one. Literally. She separated from him after only a few orns of being bonded. Turns out she was being serious when she said she didn’t love him.”

Oh, the poor mech. As if an arranged bonding wasn’t hard enough. 

“Rumor has it that Prowl’s just acting as the heir to cover for him.” the mech added. “He’s too scared to show his face around the media after the separation. But who can blame him, really?”

Jazz pursed his lips together and looked over his shoulder to try and find Prowl. He was gone. 

The femme laughed. “I honestly can’t understand why she’d leave him so quickly.” she mused. “I mean, come on, with a frame like his the interfacing must’ve been amazing.”

Jazz shot them one last glance. They seemed to have busied themselves with their conversation on someone else’s sex life. 

Taking the opportunity, he slipped away. He bobbed and weaved through the crowds of mecha. 

He came to a halt when he reached the border of the ballroom. Prowl wasn’t there. Visor dimming in disappointment, he touched the pillar and looked down the hallway. 

Large doorwings passing through a door caught his attention. They were black and white. They had to belong to Prowl. 

Jazz hurried forward, opening the large door and slipping through. He was met with a dark hallway. None of the lights were on, the only source of light being from the curtainless windows lining the side of the wall. 

Standing at the end of the hall was the black and white mech, his arm panel open and his digits poised over it. He was gaping at Jazz, an almost offended look on his face plates. 

“And just who the Pit are you?”


	2. The Most Beautiful Mech on Cybertron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa its 1 am and i shouldn't be posting this but lol fuck off

Prowl closed his forearm plate and took a step towards Jazz. “Who are you?” he asked again. 

Jazz was silent. He leaned back and put his servo on the door knob. 

Prowl’s lip curled into a snarl as he turned to leave, annoyed with this mech's behavior. He was not in the mood for this.

“Wait!” Jazz called. 

Prowl whirled his helm back around, optics staring intensely. Jazz fiddled with his digits, trying to come up with something to say. 

“I-I wanted to ask you a few questions about Praxus.” he said. “See, I’m a Cultural Investigator.”

Prowl turned all the way around, wings flaring. “So what, you’re a part of the media?” 

Primus. Another one of these pit spawned journalists trying to ask him stupid questions. Both he and Smokescreen had made it very clear to them that they would not be answering any of their questions.

“The media? No, no, of course not.” Jazz tried to reason. “I’m just here to learn about Praxian culture and you seem like someone who’d know a lot.”

A look of shame crossed his face plates as Prowl looked down, his vents hitching. His doorwings fell ever so slightly before he picked them up and sucked in a breathe. Why was it so hard to speak? 

“You overestimate me, I’m afraid.” he spoke softly. “But if you’d like, I can take you to someone who knows more than I.”

Jazz took a small step forward, internally pleased with how this mech's demeanor took a sudden shift. “But I wanted to ask you some questions about yourself.”

His wings flared upward into an angry ‘v’. Jazz jumped back a few steps, bumping into the door. 

But as soon as he saw Jazz’ body language, Prowl recoiled in on himself. He returned back to his stone faced manner, wings going neutral and face firm. 

“Myself?” he echoed. 

“Yes, of course.” Jazz said, struggling to maintain a calm voice. “I noticed your engravings.”

Prowl lifted his arm and looked at them. His brothers had more. A lot more. He should direct Jazz to them, he’d get a better answer from Smokescreen or Bluestreak. 

And yet, something just seemed so satisfying about having this short Iaconian to talk to. 

He grimaced. “What about them?”

“What do they mean?”

He stared at them again, remembering the meaning behind each and every one. Without even looking, he could tell that Jazz was staring at his arms and torso too. 

“They mean a lot of things.” Prowl said. 

He remembered getting them all. He’d typically go with his brothers whenever he’d have one done. They’d usually get engraved as well. 

Between the three of them, they all had a few matching engravings. The biggest one being their family crest, dead center on their back. Then there was the three lines they all had on their forearms.

“Like what?” Jazz asked. 

But as soon as he said it, he regretted it. Prowl seemed to be a very private mech, that much was obvious. He didn’t want to scare him away with all these questions. 

Prowl seemed to be admiring his arm intensely as he answered, “Family emblems, social ranks, personal traits.”

Jazz bit his lip. He was so guarded, but dammit Jazz wanted so desperately to learn about this mech. 

With much hesitation, Jazz was able to sputter out, “If you don’t mind, I’d love to ask you more questions at a later date.”

“No.”

Both recoiled. Prowl instantly cringed at how sudden and loud that was. Primus, what had gotten into him. 

“I,” he breathed. “I can’t.”

Jazz let out a short forced chuckle. “Of course.” he said. “I’m sure you’re busy.”

Prowl tried to speak, but found that his vocalizer wouldn’t cooperate. So he simply nodded. 

Jazz put his servos on the door behind him and opened it. Prowl watched with softened optics as the black and white Iaconian stepped backwards through the door. 

“It was nice talking to you.” Jazz said. “I’ll see you around.

* * *

Prowl let out an exasperated sigh as he flopped onto the love seat. His wings sagged dramatically as he leaned his helm back on the cushions, letting the kinks work themselves out of his neck and back.

“How was it?” he heard Smokescreen ask in a low voice. 

He onlined an optic and saw the large blue mech laying on the couch to his right. His wings were drooped over his resting form, arms splayed out the sides of the couch. 

“It was fine.” Prowl murmured in reply. 

He heard Smokescreen shift, lifting his helm to rest on the arm of the couch to see Prowl better. 

“Did you see anyone we know?” Bluestreak asked. 

Prowl rolled his helm to the side to look at his younger brother. He was laid out rather similar to Smokescreen. 

“I saw many mecha.” he responded simply. 

Smokescreen asked, “Did anyone ask you any questions?”

“No.”

“Nothing?”

“Not that I heard.”

Smokescreen settled further into couch. “I’m sure they were just talking in private than.”

“Don’t be so paranoid.” Prowl said as he swung his legs onto the arm of the couch.

“Prowl, we all know they were talking about us.” Smokescreen reasoned. “They probably still are.”

Smokescreen heard the soft sigh. Prowl folded his servos over his abdomen and crossed his legs over the arm of the love seat. 

“I know.” he whispered. 

Smokescreen lifted his optics and looked at his youngest brother, helm buried in a pillow and optics lazily staring out the large window behind him. 

“Who was that Iaconian you were with?” Smokescreen suddenly asked. 

Prowl’s wings slowly rose. “Hm?”

“The short Iaconian.” Smokescreen repeated. “I saw you come out of the same door just a few kliks apart.”

If one didn’t know Prowl’s character, they might try to assume the two of them were hooking up. But Smokescreen knew him better than anyone. Prowl didn’t do ‘hook ups.’ He wasn’t gluttonous or lustful like some of the other high society mecha. 

“He just had a few questions.”

“Questions?” Smokescreen shouted. 

Both his brothers sat up and flared their wings, suddenly awake with bright optics. 

“Wha-what kind of questions?” Bluestreak questioned. 

“What did you say?” Smokescreen asked. 

Prowl raised a servo. “He didn’t ask anything personal. He’s a Cultural Investigator. He just wants to know about my engravings.”

“Your engravings?” Bluestreak said. “But you don’t even have that many.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit weird that he’d ask you about engravings and not someone else.” Smokescreen agreed. 

It was true. Prowl didn’t really have that many engravings. At least, not compared to other Praxians. 

There were many others with more engravings. Ones that were better and more extravagant; a better representation of Praxus and its culture. 

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Sounds fishy.” Smokescreen remarked as he settled back into his previous position. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Smokescreen.” Prowl sighed. “He seemed genuine, and I doubt he got much from our conversation.”

“Doesn’t matter. Journalists can make an article out of anything.”

Prowl rolled his optics and turned his helm to the inside of the couch, away from Smokescreen. 

“I guess we’ll know in the morning,” he said. “If there’s an article written about it.”

Smokescreen chuckled coldly. “There better not be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ay just proof read this but i can't make any changes cause im so tired
> 
>  
> 
> Whorish self promotion that im posting on here after the fucking chapter even posted because its 1 am and why not  
> Follow my Instagram art account: @serenerii  
> feel free to dm me id love to talk to you guys about gay robots and shit  
> whorish self promo over   
> its 1:07 am


	3. The House of The Lords

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit short but I just needed to post
> 
> (if theres any typos, yell at me in the comments)

Jazz had been walking around in a small store early one morning when he saw the article. 

‘Lord Prowl Seen at Praxus’ Opening Ceremony’ is read. Rather bland title. Yet, it still intrigued Jazz. 

He picked up the data pad for sale and began skimming through the text. Words like ‘disgraced’ and ‘solemn’ jumped out at him. 

Littered through the article were pictures, some current and some older. There were some from the ceremony just yesterday, mostly of Prowl’s disgruntled look. But then there was one with all three of the Praxian brothers. They were surrounded by security guards and paparazzi, and on the bottom it was captioned, ‘Lord Smokescreen, Lord Prowl, and Lord Bluestreak leaving Praxus’ Courthouse.’

Jazz’ visor dimmed. He pursed his lips and added the data pad to his basket, determined to find out more about these mechs. 

When he got back to his hotel room, he dumped out his bag full of items he’d bought and grabbed the data pad. Laying on his berth, he began to read. 

The article began by detailing the Opening Ceremony. Then it shifted to Prowl, noting his disgruntled attitude and his rigid posture. But then it started to talk about his past and what had happened the past few orns; his brothers arranged bonding and their separation. 

Jazz sighed for the poor mech. As if separations weren’t embarrassing enough. It had to have ten times worse because of the media cramming microphones in his face. Must’ve been why Prowl was so defensive towards journalists. 

Alongside the photo of the three brothers leaving the courthouse was a paragraph detailing the scene. As soon as Smokescreen was of age, he took legal custody of his brothers. 

Jazz could only wonder why. Usually when something like this happened, the reasons weren’t good. 

Then the article delved deeper into personal affairs, the ones regarding his brother. It described the Lord’s arranged bonding, how it was only used to secure financial and political security. But that was all shattered as soon as the femme left him. 

Jazz tossed the article to the side. A feeling of slight disgust coursed through him. Not at Prowl, not at his brothers either. Just at the situation itself. 

There were so many loose ends in this article. Obviously, this was a story that had been going on for quite some time.

* * *

Jazz walked along the stone pathways around the festival. There were crystals everywhere, hanging from the vendor’s tents and jutting out of the ground. 

Chimes made of crystals rang in the wind. Jazz ran his servo alone the table topped with jewelry. 

The agency he worked with hired a guide to take he and a few other investigators around Praxus. It was the first day of the festival and therefore one of the busiest. 

The guide took them to the statue exhibits where artists would put their crystal statues on display. Some were of historical figures while others focused more on mythology. 

Jazz walked around and read each plaque, mentally noting the information it detailed. 

A femme from the group came trotting up to the tour guide, weilding a data pad. She pointed to something on it. 

“Oh, we simply must go here!” she cried. 

The tour guide squinted at the text, “Ah, the House of the Lords.” he mused. “Yes, they have quite the impressive art collection there.”

Jazz perked up and sauntered over to them. “The House of the Lords?” he asked. 

“Yes, its a large mansion filled with rare statues and paintings. Since the Lords are rarely home, they opened up a section of their estate to visitors who want to see their collection.” he explained. 

“Do we have time to go?” Jazz asked. 

The guide checked his chronometer and hummed. “If we make this fast, we just might. They close soon, so we’ll have to be quick.”

* * *

Jazz hurried up the massive staircase to the entrance of the mansion. He made it to the top, nearly winded, and trotted inside. 

He was met with the awe inspiring fourier. There were two spiraling staircases on either side of the room, marble tile and marble pillars. Along the white walls were paintings. Paintings with frames almost as significant as the art itself. 

As the rest of the group dispersed themselves, Jazz wandered around. He followed the stream of paintings until he got to the next room. 

This one was for the statues. There were many more statues here than the festival. Some were made of crystal, others of stone or metal. 

Unlike the festival’s more current statues, these ones seemed to be older, much older. There were depictions of mechs and femmes, some historical and some mythological. 

These statues were also from other cultures. While there were many Praxian ones there were also ones from Iacon, Poly Hex, Tyger Pax. 

He looked to the walls once more, there was a line of paintings all around the room. He followed them until they lured him out of the room. 

Jazz couldn’t wait to get back to his hotel room and write about this. But then, the thought of leaving this place left him with a sour feeling. 

He paused in front of one of the last paintings. It was a pattern painted on canvas. He was drawn to it and he didn’t know why. 

This intricate pattern seemed to familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his digit on it. 

It was certainly Praxian. He could easily tell that by the way the lines swooped with such elegance. 

But he’d never seen this painting before. Perhaps it was specially commissioned for one of the Lords of the House. 

The wealthy had a habit of doing that, commissioning artists to paint giant murals and carving gigantic statues. Some of Cybertron’s greatest works were made for that very reason. 

Just as Jazz was turning his back to walk away some movement caught his optic. His helm whirled around and pinpointed the form at the end of the hall. A name formed on his lips, one that he was almost glad to say. 

“Prowl?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS A WHORISH SELF PROMO AND IM SORRY BUT I NEED ATTENTION  
> Follow me in Insta @serenerii give me a follow so i feel validation  
> https://www.instagram.com/serenerii/

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I'm writing a chapter 2 so if a lot of people like this and want it, I'll post it. 
> 
> But I still haven't figured the plot out all the way, so feel free to comment some ideas.
> 
> (also i got bored halfway through and stopped editing this)


End file.
